


put a ring on it

by Kangoo



Series: Miscellaneous Warcraft Stuff [14]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 08:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20963744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: in which there's a family visit and Illidan develops feelings (and regret it)





	put a ring on it

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i'm still cleaning up my wips folder :p

There is something to be said about surprise visits from Tyrande and Malfurion — something incredibly rude, that is. They always drop in uninvited at the worst time possible, sure of their welcome and of their own importance. Contrary to popular beliefs, Illidan _does_ have better things to do than humor his brother: his job as a researcher in Fel magic is nothing to scoff at.

Actually, it’s a damn prestigious job. His brother is just being a dick.

But no matter how little Illidan wants to drop everything to deal with his twin and childhood friend, there’s still a small, annoying part of him (the one that feels obligated to give old people his seat in the bus and reminds him not to insult possible benefactors, even though they’re dumb as a pile of bricks) that won’t let him close the door in their face.

It _is_ tempting, though. Especially today: the setting sun is drowning his living room in warmth and he’d been halfway to a nap already. He was so comfortable that the idea of ruining his peaceful afternoon with a discussion with his brother is about the last thing he could ever want.

Illidan puts his hand on the doorknob, opening his mouth to tell Malfurion to quit it with the knocking, when he realizes: he’s not quite _alone_, is he? It’s Saturday, so Kael’thas showed up in the morning with pastries and a pile of research magazines, as per usual, and they’ve been laying around for the better part of the day. His friend has been pretending he’s not napping on his couch for maybe an hour, too sleep deprived to pay attention to whatever magical theory caught his attention. Illidan is so used to having him in his home he completely forgot about him.

Well, they’ve known each others for years. It’s about time he got the full Malfurion experience. Misery loves company and all’s that.

Illidan opens the door and ushers the two inside with barely a roll of his eyes at their stilted hellos. Why they even bother coming by as often as they do it a mystery to him.

He can’t stop them: that doesn’t mean he can’t complain about it.

He leads them to the living room: his flat is too small for them to sit comfortably far away from each others in any other room. He’s faintly relieved to see Kael’thas mostly awake, flipping through the same Arcanic Arts & Studies issues he’s been staring at for an hour. He’s taking as much space as physically possible on the couch, his head propped against the armrest and his bare feet crossed over the other — he’s small but he’s like a cat, stretching as far as possible to get comfortable. It’s hard to tell when you don’t know him but to Illidan, who’s been working with him for years, it’s obvious he only just woke up. His hair is slightly less than perfect, a few strands sticking out of place and falling over his face; he’s not paying any attention to what he’s reading; also, he was sprawled face-down in a pile of cushion barely five minutes ago, which is a pretty big indicator.

Kael’thas looks up at their arrival and quirks an elegant eyebrow at the newcomers, conveying in that simple gesture how little he’s impressed by them. His gaze shifts to Illidan and softens into familiar amusement, and a small quirk of his lips tells Illidan he’d be rolling his eyes if it wasn’t _unbecoming. _It’s reassuring to know Kael’thas will always be in his corner, even when he’s just waking up and has no idea what’s going on.

Still, because Illidan might be a good friend somewhere deep inside, he decides not to push as far as letting Malfurion and his wife sit next to Kael’thas. It’d be awkward for everyone involved: Kael’thas is extremely territorial and this is _his_ couch, and sometimes Illidan’s as well: he might just claw Malfurion’s eyes out if the man tried to sit on it. Would it be amusing to watch? Yes. But also messy and difficult to explain to a judge. So Illidan makes a beeline toward him, lightly taps Kael’thas’s shoulder to tell him to scoot over, and flops down on the couch. Kael’thas immediately goes back to his initial position, legs thrown over Illidan’s, and he shakes his head with a small sigh but doesn’t complain.

Tyrande sends them a dubious look as she sits primly on Illidan’s armchair. He wonders if he’ll have to clean it from her almost-tangible disgust afterward. Malfurion is left without a seat — he takes one look at the floor, covered in a soft, bright red carpet and half an inch thick of loose paper and choose to stand instead. Smart man.

Those are Kael’thas’s papers. He brings them every Saturday and, each time, fails to grade them like he intended to. The future of almost fifty students depends on the grade he’ll give them and he’s been putting it off for long enough that Illidan is close to giving in and helping, which has of course been Kael’thas’s goal since the start. Illidan is a magical genius and a very busy researcher, and his best friend uses him like a TA or, at best, a personal assistant. Asshole.

Malfurion clears his throat.

“So,” He says awkwardly, and looks around. “You’ve been, huh— fine?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” More awkwardness, and then, gesturing toward Kael’thas and suddenly looking like the Moon herself sent him a miracle in the form of a convenient topic of discussion, “I don’t think we’re acquainted. Do you mind introducing us?”

It’s not, in essence, an actual question. It’s more of a demand, really. Illidan _does_ mind, thank you very much, but he still nods tiredly. “Malfurion, Tyrande, this is Kael’thas— Kael, those are Malfurion and Tyrande. I talked about them before, I think.”

He did, at great length, mainly to complain about them and this exact kind of situation. Kael’thas nods and smiles like Illidan has never said anything remotely mean about the two.

“Yes, you did! And I’ve heard about you, Malfurion. You’re a druid, if I remember correctly? Fascinating field of study.”

“You’re studying druidism?” He sounds genuinely excited at the idea, the poor thing. He has no idea what mess he’s getting into.

_By the Moon_, Illidan thinks, _Not that again_. Malfurion is worst than an evangelist when it comes to druidism.

“Oh, no, absolutely not, far from it in fact,” Kael’thas chuckles. He waves off the very concept of him studying druidism (a rather weird idea, if Illidan thinks about it) like it’s not worth considering. “I’m very much a mage and I fear any other kind of magic will have to stay in the realm of theory for me.”

“Ah.” Malfurion snorts derisively. “I should have guessed.”

That was not a smart thing to say. Kael’thas is _very _proud of what he does.“Why, pray tell?”

“Well, you’re kind of the stereotypical mage, right? Frail, Obviously dabbling in Fel magic,” And he makes a sweeping gesture toward the mess of the living room,”Clearly more into the theory than the hands-on experience…”

Kael’thas rolls his eyes so hard Illidan is afraid they might stick like that. They’re very pretty eyes, despite — maybe because — their odd coloring. In this Malfurion is right: it is a sign of Fel magic. Illidan himself is beginning to show some effect from his handling of demonic artefacts, and Kael’thas has been helping him in his research — his eyes are even brighter nowadays than they were when they started working together. They’ve yet to go back to the poison-green hue they had in college, when Kael’thas first tried Fel energy.

(Those were bad days.)

“And _you_ are clearly a druid, if I may say so.” Kael’thas tilts his head and starts counting on his fingers. “Tactless, with a superiority complex and no understanding of the basis of other schools of magic.”

Malfurion sputters in indignation. “What would _you_ know about druidism?”

“_Please_,” Kael’thas sighs. “I’m an Academy teacher. I probably know more than you do about the theory of it, although I was never interested enough to try it myself.”

“Blood elves don’t have the magic for it, anyway,” Malfurion dismisses with what might just be a sneer. Illidan does it better.

“Excuse me? Those theories have been proved wrong _decades_ ago—”

“Boys,” Tyrande cuts in, a patient smile on her lips that Illidan recognizes as her ‘Malfurion is obviously right but I must pretend to be impartial For Elune’ smile. He’s been on the receiving end of it countless times before.

But Kael’thas is on a roll, and not about to be stopped by anyone and especially not her of all people. “I’m sorry, Tyrande was it?” He looks contrite, but Illidan can hear the start of a game in the lightness of his voice. He almost smiles in anticipation. “I’m not sure who you are. I mean, Illidan mentioned your name, but—”

Kael’thas, being Illidan’s best friend and drinking buddy, knows exactly who Tyrande is. He laughed a great deal about Illidan’s past crush and present aggravation, by the way.

She looks annoyed, but like she’s being kind about it. “Oh, I guess he wouldn’t have told you— Illidan can be quite secretive with acquaintances, right?” She smiles. “I’m his childhood friend— _and_ crush.” She chuckles like it’s the best joke she ever told. “I know, right?

The lack of subtlety is a hundred times more painful than the jab itself. Kael’thas shrugs it off without the smallest hint of effort. “Oh, I wouldn’t really call us _acquaintances_.”

Malfurion takes the opportunity to jump back in the discussion. “How would you describe your relationship, then?”

What is this, the Inquisition?

“I’m sorry?” Kael’thas looks— physically hurt by Malfurion’s bluntness. It would be funny if Illidan hadn’t just cringed so hard he pulled a muscle.

“I mean, what kind of relationship do you have with my brother?”

And Illidan— Illidan is tired. Annoyed, because they have no right to barge into his life like that, but mostly tired of it. So he glances at Kael’thas, the gold ring he wears on a chain around his neck (it’s full to the brim with magic, barrier spells just a word away, a little wonder of enchantment) and the one around Illidan’s (a similar object but geared more toward healing spells: it’s used almost daily, because his job requires him to deal with a lot of dangerous, volatile magic) and he speaks before he can think.

“The married kind, Mal.”

Silence falls. Kael’thas looks at him without any outright emotion, calmly assessing the situation, and doesn’t say anything. Tyrande stares. Malfurion— says the first thing that comes through his mind, probably.

“You didn’t invite us to the wedding.”

Illidan gestures at the gold band around his ring finger. “Neither did you.”

“We didn’t think you’d come, considering your feelings for Tyrande—”

“Malfurion, _please_.” Illidan shakes his head. “You’ve been dating for years and I haven’t felt anything but irritation for you two since I left for college. I would have liked the opportunity to laugh in your face when I said no, at least.”

“And we eloped, anyway” Kael’thas adds with a big smile.

“Yup. Got drunk, drove across the continent, got married by a gnome dressed as a blood elf in Dalaran, ate cake and made out all night long.”

Kael’thas sighs wistfully. “Good times.”

The visit is cut short after that. The two unwanted guests leave with cold ‘goodbyes’ and Illidan slams the door shuts as soon as they’re off the welcome mat. He puts on the three locks and, when he’s sure they’re not coming back without a fight, shuffles back to the living room and falls in his armchair. He wrinkles his nose: it smells like Tyrande perfume. Ugh.

At least they’re gone, now, and shouldn’t be back for— hm, with luck, a month, maybe.

“Your brother is a bit of a dick,” Kael’thas says conversationally.

“You don’t say.” Illidan looks up and meet his eyes. Kael’thas has that look, the one he gets when he’s put in front of an interesting magical problem and is dissecting it in his head. “Thank you for the help, by the way. I’m sorry for making my brother believe we got married in Dalaran by a Sig Nicious impersonator.”

“It’s alright,” Kael’thas says, and reaches out to pat his knee. “It’s not like I care what your brother thinks of me.”

Illidan chuckles. “I saw that, yeah.”

A moment passes, Kael’thas having finally settled on an article and Illidan gone back to the one he was reading Malfurion and Tyrande came.

“Although, if you want to make it up to me—” Illidan makes a derisive noise. Kael’thas ignores him. “You can always buy me dinner.”

“Will take-out from the Dragon’s Den suffice?”

“As long as you’re paying.”

They always eat together on Saturdays (it’s a good excuse to give their colleagues when they’re not feeling like going out and getting drunk, which is basically all the time) and Illidan ends up paying almost as often. He has a minor in Politics and arguing with the heir of the Sunstrider family is _still_ too much of a challenge.

“Yeah, alright.”

When Illidan was younger, the idea of routine disgusted him. It seemed boring and predictable, everything he didn’t want his life to be. Now he’s just happy to have regularly-scheduled breaks, considering they are the only things standing between him and first-degree murder charges.

So Illidan’s life is full of little rituals. On Mondays he buy coffee for all his subordinates (good minions are hard to find and he’s learned supplying them with caffeine is the quickest way to get their absolute loyalty), Tuesday is Bribe Day in the institute and Cookie Day in his department (and if those who bring him the good ones, the ones with caramel chunks, gets a slightly better treatment this week, well, no one can prove the connection), and so on and so forth. It’s reassuring to know some things will _always _happen, even when it’s things like the explosion of unstable Fel enchantments and the mysterious disappearance of every sharp object on Thursdays because it’s when he has to go and talk to whoever is handling their budget and it’s _stressful_, alright. It would make anyone consider homicide.

Wednesdays are slightly different. It’s the only day in the week when he gets out of the Fel Researches building and let his subordinates slack off for a few hours while he drives to the Kirin Tor Academy. It’s also the only day in the week when _Kael’thas_ gets out of his classroom for more than the ten-minutes trip to the coffee machine and back, because Illidan comes to drag him out for lunch and a well-deserved break for both of them.

Their fields of study are close enough that they often have to work together, but there’s nothing like eating something terribly greasy and trash-talking students and council members together.

“I swear I spend more time arguing with Rommath than teaching nowadays.” Kael’thas stabs his chopsticks at Illidan for emphasis, “Can you believe he dropped off all his work on my desk because he had a _date night_?”

Illidan carefully doesn’t mention that Kael’thas has been pretending to forget his papers at Illidan’s house in the hope they’d be graded when he got them back for years, mostly because he doesn’t want to admit out loud that he _has_ been doing Kael’thas’ work for him all this time. It’s one thing to do it and another to say out loud what they both already know. He lets Kael’thas vent, rests his head on his hand and watches him wave his hands around.

If asked, he could probably make an educated guess at what Kael’thas is saying, but the truth is that he’s stopped listening a while ago. His mind is somewhere else, distracted by thoughts of Malfurion and Tyrande’s visit the previous week-end. He can’t stop thinking about the way they reacted when he told them he got married without them knowing it. It was hilarious, and yet something in it nags at him. Something about the look he exchanged with Kael’thas behind their back, the way his eyes kept drifting to the ring around his friend’s neck, thoughts _what if_ circling in his head.

And even as he thinks about all this, his eyes can’t quite get off Kael’thas, his eyes that glint like jewel in his excitation and his golden hair and every little detail Illidan somehow keeps rediscovering after years of friendship. The sight is so familiar yet it stirs up unknown feeling in him, a kind of warm anticipation, like butterflies in his stomach.

Kael’thas excuses himself to go to the toilet and Illidan takes advantage of his absence to hit his head on the table with a groan.

Of course he had to choose _now_ to develop a crush on his best friend. When has his life ever been _easy_, after all?


End file.
